


Death is Not the End

by emmy1024



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Clexa, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Reincarnated Clarke Griffin/Lexa, Reincarnation, Slow Burn, not super triggering but protect yourself, there will be death but it won't last long
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-14
Updated: 2016-06-14
Packaged: 2018-07-14 17:55:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7184204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmy1024/pseuds/emmy1024
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Soulmates exist. They are a huge pain in the ass. </p>
<p>aka the one where Lexa and Clarke are reincarnated, but only Lexa gets to keep her memory of prior lives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rome 117 CE

Sweat rolled down the back of her neck. The armor was heavy, iron, and utterly horrid. Less horrid, Lexa supposed, than a stupid death because she wasn't wearing it - but it was horrid none the less. The sun had barely risen above the tree line, and yet the air burned around her. A dizzy wave ran through her, and she leaned onto the white horse beside her to steady herself. After the odd moment passed, she set her up, and prepared for the what was to come. Given the heat of the day the chariot races were to run early, before lunch. She wasn't usually nervous, but today was not a day like the others. 

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

She had been found loosely wrapped in burlap. Many had told her she was lucky that her mother had placed outside the palace of Kane, Rome's Emperor . He had a soft spot for children, or so they said. Lexa knew that the truth was that he had a soft spot for money, the money he could gain through training and selling slaves - otherwise known as grown children. Lexa had been lucky twice; a tall, pretty girl like herself could fetch quite the harem of suitors in the whorehouse, but a girl who could whisper to the horses in the chariot races was worth a fortune. She was braver than any of the men, with a gift for sensing weakness and instincts that kept her alive. The first race came a week after her 7th year. Kane had promised her that she would live if she was brave. So far, he had made good on that promise. 

As long as she stayed alive, Kane had fed her and kept her protected. He was able to through a vast network of resources, gained through deception and slave holding. Not that Lexa minded, or at least she hadn't up until a day ago, when his political opponent stabbed him 7 times in the neck. Even after being held as a slave, the closest thing she had to a father had been Kane. He was her only confidant, and he was the only one she could count on to be there for her to stitch her wounds and remind her to breathe before entering the colosseum. After her death, her status as property meant she was transferred to the man that had killed the only man she would ever love. The new Emperor had sold off most of his inherited slaves, preferring to keep those he had known to be loyal. Only she remained. Lexa half expected the man to kill her just because of how Kane had felt about her. Being honest with herself, she wasn't sure she would have minded. Apart from the thrill of the races, Lexa lived for little. Her life had a horrible sense of duty surrounding it, with no light at the end for her to hope for. 

The new Emperor didn't kill her. He had strolled into the slave quarters, empty apart from a trembling dark haired girl, and placed his hand on her shoulder. She met his steely gaze, ready to embrace the end. After a long moment, he told her that he didn't like to kill innocent people. That he had watched her race every week for 12 years. That he would like to continue to watch her race. She was unsure what he meant, but hope had already taken root in the bottom of her chest. He pulled a key from his wrist, and placed it in her palm, pressing over it with both hands. He had given her the stables - the stable that had cost millions of denarius and thousands of slave's lives to build. The horses stabled within were specially bred, trained by the masters of Rome and fed better than half the city. The chariots were new every race, crafted by the masters of the city and composed of the strongest materials. 

"Only if you win the tournament at week's end. If I win, the people of Rome will take me more seriously. I know Kane hadn't wanted you to enter because of the danger, but the truth is that I think you are my best shot. I will give you everything you can dream of if only you win." His voice was smooth and even, but still conveyed his fear of appearing weak in front of his new constituents. He had thrown his biggest bargaining chip at Lexa, who was still reeling from the offer.

Lexa had watched the year's tournament from the time she was old enough to sneak out of the slave's quarters. It was the most dangerous day of racing - it was bloody, and for the thousand men who entered, only one would exit. She was a good racer, perhaps the best in Rome. But it was brutal, more so than any other race, and universally known for being more deadly than night lock. That was what had made the Tournament off limits to Lexa when she belonged to Kane. He would never admit it, but he cared for her, and entering the tournament was a death sentence to a slim girl with no fighting experience. She risked her life every week in the races, but death was not common there. 

"I don't know how to fight. Kane never taught me. I wouldn't win, no matter how I tried." she said, trying as best she could to keep her voice steady. 

"I've watched you race your entire life. Your instincts are the best I've ever seen. You would win." He is convincing. Lexa thinks, almost passively, that he would make a good politician. The thought distracts her for a moment, and she is only brought back by the sensation of his fingers digging into her bare arms. "There are only two choices here, Lexa. Either you win the tournament, or you die. Whether you die here tonight or tomorrow on the field is up to you." He shifts his weight back, revealing a dagger resting on his hip. A cold shiver rushes through Lexa as her mind is made for her.

"I'll do it."  
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Lexa had chosen her horse. Knowing what today had to offer caused a twist of guilt through Lexa. She cupped the mare's ear in her hand, and whispered a quiet apology to the stoic animal for what was to come. Bells rang indicating that it was time to line up. The arena was huge, and with he heat of the day bearing down on the racers, the race would be a hard one. Today she had an undeniable advantage - very few of the best racers entered the tournament. After all, the money that was in the civilized races was good money, and even safe compared to many other things. The slaves who ran the races were worth more to their owners than the tenth of a percent chance that they would win the tournament. The only ones who entered voluntarily were desperate, suicidal, or forced to by their masters. Lexa wasn't entirely sure which category she fell into. 

As the desperate racers joined the death parade, Lexa felt the eyes of 200,000 cheering fans watching her. She was the only woman who had raced (allowed only because Kane had said-so). She was used to the extra attention, but today was different. Some were pleased to see what they knew would be the death of her. Some mourned the loss of the best racer in a thousand years. Lexa was also a bit shaken by her competition. Usually she raced Rome's elite - in iron carriages drawn by fine steeds. Today everything from wooden trolleys to nearly-dead nags whipped to walk were present. Not many could afford the type of outfitting that she could. 

Races were ran in heats in the morning, and the winners would run again later in the day for an advantage in the day to follow. Lexa had won her morning heat easily, and was now mentally preparing to run the final race. Losers from the heats were thrown to the caged creatures from distant lands. Only the winners would fight in a gladiator style arena tomorrow. As the losers were executed, the crowds would cheer each time a pulse of blood erupted under a bear or tiger. Lexa would cringe, and force herself to focus. 

Kane's voice, reminding her to breath and to trust her instincts washed over her. She could win - easy. She had to. Her horse shook slightly in anticipation. She flicked her ears back to Lexa, asking for guidance. Lexa stilled, waited for the bell that would start the bloodshed. It came. 

The ground shook and the sky rang with hoofbeats. Lexa was well into the midst of desperate men. She could hear nothing but her own heartbeat. Within moments, the horses were covered in sweat and and it was blowing back onto the racers. After the first lap, the weakest horses fell to the back. Once split into the strong and the weak, Lexa was able to look around. She saw the thin, worm riddled horses fall into the cloud of dust behind her. Matching her stride for stride was a huge bay horse, and holding the reins was a wiry man who seemed to only see the track ahead. Lexa saw the fear in his eyes and wondered for a moment why that fear had not gripped her as it had him. Races were always the only time she could be calm enough to think. 

The horses ran as a pair for several long minutes. The trolleys that held their human halves were inches from each other, creaking under the stain of being pulled at breakneck speed. The wiry man with fear in his eyes had not once looked over at Lexa, instead fixated on the turf ahead. Coming into the final lap, Lexa leaned as far forward as she dared, and shouted into the void of salty air . Her voice was rough and forced, but the horse understood the difference between it and the typical whisperings of Lexa. When the grey mare surged forward, slathered in sweat but giving all she had, the man finally looked to her and was a blur. 

Lexa had trained with the civilized racers. The winner won because he could see the distance and could make his horse run to his best. That was not how things worked in the tournament. Lexa knew that, and still didn't truly understand when her carriage had jerked backwards, one of it's wheels unable to spin after a long shaft of wood slid between the rungs of the wheel and it's bottom. She had been thrown forward, her lithe body still traveling at full speed. Only because one of her hands had been resting on the front edge of the carriage was she able to grip to it and not be pummeled to her death by a hundred hooves. She was, however, no longer inside the carriage. She was being dragged along the ground, her light armor filling with sand. Pain erupted through her, and only after a moment could she realize what had happened. Twisting around, she grabbed the pole of wood and yanked as hard as she dared. The abrupt motion dislodged the wood from its spot, but also dislodged Lexa's shoulder. She ground her teeth together and furrowed her brown in pain. The urge to cry rushed through her. She had to be brave. The yell of pain became one of encouragement. The horse had slowed to a trot in the midst of the jerk and the loss of Lexa. At Lexa's yell, the mare surged forward, confused but for the voice of the girl who had trained her. As the ground rushed away from Lexa at an increasing speed, the pain of her body being bounced along the ground multiplied. She hadn't the strength to pull herself up with one exhausted arm, and the other was numb and useless. Waves of pain with spikes of agony became her world, and the only thing she could do was yell to the horse to give it to her faster. She could be brave. She had to be. 

When the sound of a second set of hoofbeats came closer, she knew she had closed in on her attacker. She yelled again, this time her voice cracked from strain and agony. 

"Little girl", the man called. He had to yell too, to be heard over the beasts and the roaring crowd. "You will die here."

The finish line was closing in. She had edged ahead, her horse totally spent but still surging. She would win, and the pain of being dragged for over a mile on rocks would be worth the advantage for tomorrow. Lexa allowed herself a brief smile. Brief indeed, because the man who so feared death had more than a single trick hidden in his trolley. Suddenly, Lexa was slammed by the back of the carriage as it careened to a halt. The taste of iron filled her mouth, her ears rang and she couldn't think of a part of her that didn't hurt. The pale sand was being quickly stained by rivers of blood which flowed to her, crimson proof of the horse who had been stabbed through the chest. The grey mare was stained deep red, and she trembled in pain and fear. The image of the suffering horse burned itself into Lexa's mind as the crowd roared in appreciation of the brutality before her. 

Lexa had been born small. Apothecaries had told Kane to give up, and wait for another child on his doorstep. But from the time she drew her first breath, Lexa had been stubborn as hell. She was strong in her resistance, and even now with a hundred yards to drag herself, she didn't even think of quitting. Her blood and the blood of her horse mixed in the trail behind her. She wouldn't finish first - the man with the wild eyes was already celebrating his victory. She would, however, finish. The carriages behind her zoomed past, and even the nags with a hundred lashes on their backs were faster than Lexa was right now. They had all finished, collapsed in exhaustion, the heat pressing on them as the day wore into brutality, and Lexa was still dragging herself to the finish. She had to finish before she could receive help, if they even permitted her any this year. Nothing mattered to her more than crossing that broken line of string, and when she did she allowed herself to feel everything she had held back. 

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Lexa didn't cry. She wasn't even really sure how to, with all the emotion she had repressed growing up. Even though she was a pillar of self-control, the boys had still poked fun at her for being an 'emotional girl'. So Lexa didn't cry. She did tremble, starting in her fingertips and flooding her body until her entire self was quaking. The scent of blood and iron and sweat filled her, and she sat and bled and shook, her mind blank of everyone and everything. Lexa had never felt so powerless and broken. 

"Don't tell me that you dragged your ass a hundred meters only to die of a panic attack after the finish line. My money is on you." The voice was cocky. It was smooth, not forced through smoke riddled lungs or slimy like so many of the socialites that Lexa had appeased for her entire life. It filtered past the chants of the crowd and the thud of her heartbeat in her ears. Lexa tried to talk, tried to tell this girl that she was not having a panic attack, that she should waste her money and bread and circuses like everyone else - not throw it away. She found, instead of air in her lungs, that she was gasping while she was shaking. Even though it must have been over a hundred degrees in the stadium, she felt chilled. She was surrounded by two hundred thousand people, but felt completely alone. So maybe she was having a panic attack.

Cool fingers wrapped around her hands. The girl threw a shadow that eased the glare of the sun against steel. 

"You're okay. I promise. You're gonna be okay."

It was that voice again, soothing and gentle. Her heart was still racing, though she was starting to suspect it was for a different reason. Lexa steeled herself with a deep breath and looked up at the first person who had spoken to her kindly in her life. Her long blonde hair was pulled back into a messy bun, and she wore the clothes of a healer - that is, white and splattered in blood. The first time Lexa saw her eyes, Lexa was reminded of the sky, stretching forever in every direction. Her breath caught at the sight of her, and from that moment on Lexa always needed a moment to adjust to her beauty. 

"Lexa, right? There was a whole section cheering for you, especially at the end there. I'm allowed down here because I am a healer with the court. They figured healing this year would be kinda mandatory for you, given..." She let the rest hang in the air. Lexa was still caught on the gentle tone that no one ever used with her. Lexa had always been a slave, albeit a talented one. This girl was treating her like a god. Lexa wished she were a god, so she could take them both far from here. She was caught on the way her named rolled off this girls' tongue, said like a prayer rather than a command. 

Lexa still hadn't said anything. She had, however, stopped shaking and hyperventilating. The girl had started to examine the her, letting her eyes drift to the injuries that would need wrapping and salve. 

"You're wasting your money, betting on me. And your time healing me. " Lexa felt like she owed this girl an explanation, an apology for her upcoming death whether by gladiator or infection. She also felt greedy for wanting this girls' name more than she wanted a drink of water or a salve to draw away her pain. 

"Clarke." The girl said, her ocean blue eyes resting on Lexa's forest green ones for a moment. She had a bit of an impish smile to her, even as they discussed imminent death "And to be fair, you're not dead quite yet.". Clarke seemed to be waiting for something, expectantly leaning forward towards Lexa. Lexa was still on the ground, her back ripped apart by the long drag on the hard ground. Clarke rested in a crouch, and extended an arm to the battered girl before her. Reluctantly, Lexa, stretched towards Clarke. She was unprepared for the tingle down her spine as they made contact for the first time. Clarke was pleased with Lexa's cooperation, and slowly pulled Lexa to her feet. Clarke wrapped her arm around Lexa's waist to support her, and despite Lexa's pain all she could focus on was the touch between them, their skin separated by a sheer layer of cloth. 

Back in the staging room of the colosseum, there were many healers and an abundance of food. Lexa had always been fed slave's food, so the scent of chicken that she knew was meant for her was quite distracting. Clarke tightened her grip around Lexa's waist, drawing Lexa back into the girl. 

"I'll feed you. Only after I take care of these cuts, though. Kane sent me to help you and his was an offer that I couldn't refuse." Clarke said, smiling sadly. Lexa got the feeling that perhaps Kane and Clarke had known each other, but either way Clarke wasn't telling her. 

Clarke was a whirlwind around her - wiping blood and massaging bruises, rubbing salves and all other sorts of the things. Lexa was aware of the pain; a sort of dull ache with occasional sharp stabs. She was, however, more aware of the soft fingers rubbing gently across her. After a moment, she shook her head slightly at the realization that she had a serious crush which was more of an issue than it usually would be given her present circumstances. She told herself that she had to be focused, that she would be fighting 19 people in the morning who were desperate to kill her and save themselves. If any part of her brain was on anything other than staying alive, her chances of survival would plummet from 'unlikely' to 'death sentence.' There was a time and place for pretty girls and flirty smiles, but Lexa knew how a crush usually distracted her like nothing else. Clarke finished, and stood up, leaving Lexa resting alone on the edge of the bench. 

"Anything in particular you want me to get you?" Clarke asked, nodding slightly to the row of food pushed on the other side of the room. Lexa deeply considered saying no, saying that she needed to clear her mind from food and pain and most of all this girl that filled her every thought when it should be the last thing on her mind. Lexa didn't say any of those things, though. 

"I've never, uh..." Lexa tried. Clarke's hands were soft, free of callous or scar. She had clearly grown up in a rich home with all the chicken and bread she could eat. Her curves spoke to it, and once Lexa pulled herself up from those curves, she met the blue eyes that had quickly understood Lexa's predicament. 

"I'll pick something out for you. Wait here. Don't pull any of your stitches if you can help it." And like that, Clarke had vanished into the crowd of healers and battered contestants. Lexa tried to breathe deeply and focus on a plan for the next morning. She had lost her only real chance - the advantage afforded to the winner of the race. Now Lexa faced possibly the worst odds of her life. Still, knowing that the golden haired girl had placed any money on her gave her a bit of a smile. If Clarke could believe in her, perhaps there was a reason to believe in herself. 

"Trust me." Lexa looked up to see that Clarke had returned with two huge bowls of steaming food. She didn't quite recognize the contents, but they smelled like nothing that Lexa had ever eaten. And as Lexa would learn, whenever Clarke made a request she was essentially powerless to refuse. So she ate the odd looking stew, which after a few bites became her favorite - a food she learned was lamb stew. Clarke watched as her face filled with the joy of discovering a new favorite, though Clarke didn't know that Lexa had actually discovered two favorites that day - lamb stew and Clarke. 

Even from the first night that they met, Clarke and Lexa were always able to spend time together without talking. They were comfortable with each other, with their gentle breaths and occasional eye contact enough to maintain intimacy. So they sat and watched the others scurry to eat and pray for absolution and mend wounds that for most of them would prove useless by the following night. When a large group began to pray in a circle, begging and crying and hoping; Clarke reached for Lexa and covered Lexa's hand with her own. 

When the night grew late, everyone but the fighters were escorted from the holding room. Clarke had stalled until the last moment, and when she left the bed still smelled of pine and of home. Lexa buried her face in it for a moment, breathing in the scent of the girl who had brought her peace on the day that would have broken her had she been alone. 

Theoretically the contestants should be asleep now, but the nervous air of the room meant that getting any sleep was nearly an insurmountable feat. Lexa sat alone on her bed, still smelling Clarke and replaying every word that Clarke had said, every brush of her soft hands, every time their eyes met across the room. 

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ 

When a cold hand rested on her shoulder, she nearly jumped from her skin. Attached to the hand in question was a living skeleton. Lexa had no idea how she had entered the private holding room, because there was no way that she was a fighter. The woman seemed to be the oldest person Lexa had ever seen - wrinkled skin melting from every edge and a scent that reminded Lexa of death. The only part about the lady that seemed even human was her eyes. They were a caramel brown, dark like the earth that grew crops every summer, rich and alive. Lexa tried to scoot out from underneath the woman's gaze and hand, to create some space to think. Her fingers tightened on Lexa's shoulder and Lexa was forced to make eye contact again. 

"You want to live, girl?" The voice was forced through failing lungs, but each word was perfectly clear. Lexa was unsure if this was a threat, because the woman didn't look like she could kill a gnat, let alone a human. 

"I..." Lexa's first instinct was to say yes - because what else are you supposed to say to a question like that in a situation like this? Something about the eyes watching her told her to try and tell the truest truth she could, so she decided to figure it out. "...yes. I want to live, I think." The woman did not seem surprised by Lexa's half-hearted reply. 

"Why?" she croaked, and narrowed her eyes to further uncover Lexa's truth. 

"If I do, I was promised a stable of the finest horses in Rome." Lexa thought that she was telling the woman her reason for wanting to live, but as she said the words her stomach turned. 

"That is most certainly not true." 

"A girl." Lexa hadn't meant to say it. She didn't even know what it meant. Clarke had only ever met her today, they had said some thirty words to each other. Clarke was not a reason to live, not yet. Lexa realized, only a moment after the woman before her did. 

"A girl is a reason to hope. Which I suppose is a good enough reason to live." Finally the ice cold hand retreated from her shoulder, and after a pregnant pause, "Memory seems a gift, doesn't it?" 

"Yes" Lexa said, her first easy answer of the night. After replaying everything she could remember about Clarke for the better part of the last several hours, she relished her ability to remember. 

The woman didn't say anything for a long moment. Her eyes bored into Lexa, as though she was weighing something. 

"I miss the thrill of a hope. Of a girl and of a first time for everything." Lexa assumed this was due to the woman's age - surely there wasn't much left to do after eight or nine decades. She reached into a concealed pocket in her shawl, and pulled a thin dagger that shone under the pale light of the room. Lexa reeled backwards, sure that this crazy old lady was about the murder her and steal from her the next half-day before her imminent demise. Lexa wanted those hours, if only to foster a stupid hope that she could catch Clarke's eye one more time. The woman held the blade in her hand, gripping it until blood ran down her arm and dripped a crimson river to the soft dirt floor. She reached with her other hand, taking Lexa's in hers. Lexa was still unsure when she wrapped Lexa's hand around the handle of the dagger, and Lexa was frozen when she pushed the sharp end of the dagger into her own stomach. Even the woman's blood seemed cold, and it spread in a lake across her chest. After a nightmarish gurgle that Lexa would never forget, her eyes finally lost their light. She had killed herself. Lexa had killed her. 

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The next day was bright and cold, the morning pouring into the locked room and forcing all of the reluctant fighters to their feet. Lexa was covered in a thin layer of crimson, the dagger still wrapped in her palm. The corpse had stiffened in the night, but the perfectly round circle of blood still haunted Lexa, who had yet to tear her eyes from it. 

There was a rule that was never broken in the tournament - the only killing will take part in the colosseum. Any attempts to kill contestants in the night were strictly forbidden. Attempts were met with the worst punishment that the populace of Rome could dream. Families of the contestant were to be killed, any friend they ever had, any stranger who had given them a kind look. Those in power knew that the best way to control desperate people was with their human ties. So the sight of a body in the early morning light was not a welcome one. 

However, there was no rule against killing old homeless women, even in the city it was not really forbidden. So Lexa had done nothing wrong, really. The woman had killed herself, had done it before Lexa had even had a chance to realize what was happening or be able to stop her. She was clearly deranged. She had been rambling and making odd threats and definitely had reached her expiration date. Or so Lexa kept telling herself. There was no point in rinsing the blood from her, considering that she would be covered in a thick layer of it one way or another in mere minutes. She did however have to relinquish the dagger to a guard who seemed slightly concerned but was hiding his palpable fear rather well. 

When everyone was woken, they were shuffled to the holding room and checked over for concealed weapons. The middle aged man looked over Lexa and winced slightly seeing her galaxy of bruises and cuts. They were all given a single weapon of choice. Lexa had never been trained in any weapon play, unless a carriage counted. She had never thrown a spear or swung a sword. If she was being honest with herself, the sight of anyone's blood other than her own made her a little queasy. After a long moment, she turned to the guard that had confiscated the silver dagger and shifted her gaze to it pointedly. He raised his brow - the dagger was not made for throwing or really anything over than close range stabs. That would not be the flavor of the fight. Still, the rule was any weapon goes. So, he wiped it off briefly and handed it to her. 

Apparently the whole city had heard of her feat the day prior and rumor was spreading fast. The stadium was sold out, and the crowd was bloodthirsty for the girl they thought had an inhuman will to live. In truth, she was tired and scared. Still, she had to be strong for herself and maybe even for the girl she hoped was sitting somewhere among the crowds. 

The rules were simple, fight until all but one was dead. No limits on what was 'legal.' Lexa shivered thinking of the prior years that she had watched, what with the throats ripped and flowing blood and screams of agony. She was standing along the far edge, waiting for the bells that would start the bloodshed. 

The slight scent of pine alerted her before the light tap on her shoulder did. Lexa smiled reflexively, before turning to face a girl with hair the color of summer straw

"Clarke." Lexa said her name like a prayer, like the answer to a long pondered riddle. Clarke was lighting her eyes all over Lexa, trying to remember her face in this moment. They still felt the awkward distance imposed by the newness of their relationship. That didn't stop the innate sense of comfort that they felt around each other. 

The first bell rang, and the crowd practically vibrated in their bloodlust. Clarke was still holding Lexa in her gaze, committed the dark haired girl with the bravery of a thousand men to her memory. When the second bell rang, the drums beat to the fast pace of Lexa's heart. For a moment Clarke looked conflicted, pulled in the direction of her duties as a healer and yet here she was, soaking up a girl she barely knew. When the third bell rang, Clarke's decision was made for her.

Clarke reached to Lexa's hip, pressing her left hand to Lexa's right side. Heat rushed from her fingertips through Lexa, warming her in spite of the ice laden air of the morning. Clarke trapped her bottom lip between her teeth and looked at Lexa's own lower lip. 

Lexa had been kissed exactly once. The stable boy was perhaps a worse kisser than the horses themselves - and so Lexa wasn't quite sure if that was what Clarke was trying. It was. 

Clarke had to stretch a little upwards to connect their mouths. The moment was so brief, with closed mouths and held breaths. Clarke's smell washed over Lexa, as did a tingle of electricity. As soon as it was over, Clarke leaned back, keeping eye contact and her hand on Lexa's side. 

"May we meet again." Clarke was giving her encouragement to fight, or so Lexa thought. The thought didn't last long, because the fourth and final bell had rung. Clarke had slipped from her and into the crowd, awaiting their fate. 

She had a two inch dagger and no fighting experience. Despite the giddy warmth that Clarke had given her, fear had already begun to leave a sour taste in her mouth. There was already blood on the cool sand, crimson rivers pooling into lakes, guts and grimace and the smell of rotten iron. Lexa knew she was a target. She knew she was supposed to be a killer. Lexa heard the ring of a steel sword leaving it's holster, and turned in the direction of the sound.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ 

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ 

Nobody is saying that death isn't painful. Typically, though, it is either over so fast that pain hasn't much time to work, or the body has a moment to flood with endorphins. In this case, Lexa had a few moments in which to sprawl on the sand with a gash in her neck, giving back to the earth from which she once took. The endorphins and the shock had numbed most of her pain, and she was trying to pretend the smell of blood was actually the scent of evergreen trees and that the sky was actually the eyes from which is had to have taken its color. 

The first time, Lexa was a slave born of a whore in Rome. She was brave and smart and strong - but not enough so as to survive her nineteenth year. She died of a sword swung at her by a desperate boy who would join her in death only minutes later. He would be reborn as a peasant boy in France, centuries later, with no memory of his life or death. He had met his soulmate only once in his life in Rome, the guard who had snuck him a extra bowl of soup the night before he was sold to his slaver. They would have another shot, infinite more. Sometimes they would meet once, sometimes they would burn brightly and briefly. Sometimes, they would have the love story that books are written about. Each time, they were guaranteed to encounter each other at least once, as all soulmates are. Each time, they would get to try again from a blank slate and a fresh life. 

Lexa would not be quite so lucky.


	2. Alexandria 300 CE

In her first life, Lexa had seen plenty of death. She had never feared it - aside from the pain associated with its cause. Lexa had figured there were only two options; either death was a dreamless sleep, or it was some sort of heaven that the heretics spoke of. Staying alive in a world hell-bent on killing her had taken most of her time and energy, without much left to spend on the work of philosophers'. She had never imagined that after death, she would be recycled into the same world with a different roll of the dice. But, here she was. Much of what we know is associated with muscle memory. Practice allows us to walk and to speak, to draw and to use a fork. That had been wiped clean. What remained, however, was Lexa's limbic memory - that of emotion and specific narrative recollections. 

When she was three years old, Lexa tried to ask her new parents if they, too, experienced this sort of recall. Given that the only words she was able to use were monosyllabic and relating to food, she was not particularly successful. It wasn't until she was five that she had the words to ask if she was alone in her experience. By then, however, Lexa had figured out that she was the only one who could remember a life in which the Romans raced to the tune of pulsing hearts. It would not be the last time she attempted to discover if others shared her fate. But it would be the last time in this life. 

The first difference she had noticed in this new place was the heat. Rome had warm summers, even brutally so, from time to time. Nothing like this place. Heat was everywhere, and all people that lived here were under its cruel thumb. Still, the people who lived here had adapted to its power. Her skin was a shade darker than it had been in her first life, but her eyes remained emerald. Her parents friends and neighbors had marveled at her intelligence and 'old-soul.' Even as a child, ehe tried to remember to be careful as to what she shared, because she had heard what was done to witches in the big city. 

Unlike her life as a slave, Lexa now had the taste for lower class living. Her parents lived on the edge of Alexandria at its height, which was infinitely better than her life before as a footstool. Even when she had the urge to complain about watery stew, she remembered her life of gruel and risk. There was little risk in this life, aside from perhaps the risk of pulling a muscle working in the field. Despite having 19 years worth of memories more than her peers, Lexa was not particularly more suited or talented at life than they were. She had only ever learned to ride horses and race carriages. She knew Latin from that life, which beared some resemblance to the Greek she now needed to master here in Egypt. It was in her first 15 years of life that she accepted this second chance at happiness. Lexa learned to farm on the fields, and learned the reward in eating after a full day of labor. Lexa's soft hands grew calloused and her body became littered with scars from slips of tools or slips of feet. Her way with horses did not leave her, and when she could be found nowhere else, her parents sent for her in the stables. In this life, she had a brother, who was born when she was 16. For the next five years, she and Aden were inseparable. She was not rich, but she was happy. She was not special, but she felt like those that loved her thought she was. This was a life that the Lexa from before could never have allowed herself to imagine in fear of getting stuck in self-pity.

At times, Lexa could force herself to believe that her life in Rome was but a bad dream. Still, when she was the only student to 'learn' Latin with only one try, it was hard to forget. She dreamt of carriages and drumbeats and gruel. She dreamt of Kane, the man who had enslaved and loved her. In her waking hours, though, life was taxing - but not more than she could bear. Lexa had always been able to grit her teeth and lower her gaze and do the work that needed doing. 

Alexandria was a city twain. People from different worlds lived in the same city, and experience two cities there. The rich became richer each year, taking more from the fields and farms than in the year prior. In dry years, the ribs of the poor could be counted and their bodies withered to nothing. The rich, no matter the rains, kept their full figures and 'duties' of writing on bits of parchment. In one such dry spell, Lexa's family suffered more so than they had in the past. When two meals of stew became one meal of watery stew, Lexa gave as much as she could to Aden. His wheat colored locks lost their shine when that one meal had to stretch for two days. The rich of the city seemed to parade about, drumsticks in one hand and a loaf of bread in the other. In Rome, the rich and the poor lived differently - but they both lived. Here, being poor was a execution order. Lexa would often count her ribs by running her finger tips across them, between their valleys up to the sunken pallets of her neck. She gave as much as she could to Aden, as did her parents. But as anyone who has ever known a young boy could tell you, they need a lot of food. That is especially true when said boy must spend all day working to grow wheat that he was forbidden to eat. Aden looked much like the crops - withered and nearly dead. 

Starvation sneaks up on you. Hunger does not - miss even a day of eating, and the entire body rallies to find a source of sustenance. But once the body is resigned to being hungry, it often gives up. And one cool morning after two years without rain, Aden's body gave up. Lexa felt her chest buckle in on itself. She had never been attached to someone as strongly as Aden, and she had never experienced the crippling maws of grief. 

Something Lexa had learned about herself in her combined forty years of life - when she felt overwhelmed, she liked to walk. In Rome, it had never been a long walk, usually just around the slave quarters, in a trait the older women called 'pacing.' Lexa did not pace because she liked to pace, she paced because she had to be walking to clear her mind and with a short leash, that manifested itself as pacing. In Alexandria, she could go wherever she pleased. On the morning that Aden would not wake, she first knocked on her parents' door, her face telling them what they needed to know. She then left her modest home and walked for what would turn out to be hours. She didn't see where she was going, and she wasn't even using the time to think. The feeling in her chest consumed her, and she idly entertained the thought that perhaps that was what grief was - a rabid sand rat on a desperate journey to escape the space between her ribs. 

She was stopped, not by reason or man, but by the lighthouse. She had seen the Pharos before - once -, when she was a little girl. Her family lived on the far side of the coast, and there was never time to walk a whole day to see a lighthouse. The Mediterranean sea was beautiful, she could admit that, standing before it as the sun sank into the sky. Sense had just started to push itself onto her, and the thought of walking another twelve hours to return to a funeral did not appeal to her at all. She decided to spend another moment on the beach, to subject herself to the scrutiny of the sea and the lighthouse and the sky. It was burning a bright color that she could only ever remember as Clarke. 

Lexa rarely allowed herself to remember Clarke. Clarke came her to in odd moments of need - when she had to push herself to work another hour, to give away another meal, or to calm herself in the midst of another panic attack. Clarke came when there was no other way to describe the beauty of a laugh, no other way to describe hope. There weren't many evergreens in Egypt, but when a traveling trader came a decade ago and quizzed the children on the odd tree strapped to his horse - Lexa had first whispered, 'Clarke', before her full voice called 'evergreen', which had won her the first piece of candy she had ever had. Clarke came to her now, in the face of beauty and grief and could-have-beens. 

There was a outcropping of sandstone that arched over the sea and provided the perfect angle to see Pharos. Lexa walked closer to the massive stone, only to see that someone had beaten her to it. The figure was washed out by the rapidly sinking sun - only the dark shadow of their feminine body could be seen. The girl was sitting on the peak of the stone, her head bent over a book of some kind, and her hand rapidly moving across it. The girl's hair was being tugged by the salty ocean air, framing her in a golden halo. 

Lexa seriously considered going home. She had never been much one for chatting up random strangers, especially ones who seemed so attached to whatever they were doing. But the skip of her heart looking at the figure told her that she had to at least get a closer look. She hadn't been able to find a girl in all of Alexandria who could make her feel anything like Clarke had. Whatever this girl was, she was worth a minute of bravery. 

Sneaking up on people is generally frowned upon, especially when they are vulnerable on a outcropping of stone above a turbulent sea. Still, Lexa couldn't quite bring herself to say anything as she approached. Once closer, she was able to make out a sketchbook and ink quill. She marveled at the golden hair that she only saw now in dreams and unbidden memories. Lexa stood frozen for a long breath, not wanting to break the moment - in a way, she told herself, this was a logic problem of Schrodinger. If the girl never turned around, she could be both Clarke and not Clarke. Only once the girl was alerted to Lexa's presence could she become what she truly was. The sun sank and the waves crashed, deafening - but not loud enough to dull the beat of Lexa's heart. 

The air by the sea carried a distinct smell to it - of fish and of ships and of change. In this moment, however, it carried the smell of an evergreen. 

"Clarke?" Lexa hadn't meant to speak. But when she did, she couldn't exactly take it back. She had to see it through to its conclusion. As much as Lexa might like, she couldn't evaporate. 

The girl stiffened, her back arching against the fine fabric that framed it. She turned around, and once Lexa could see her face, her heart contracted and the blood rushed to her face.

"Clarke." Lexa had said her name again. This time, though, it wasn't a question. It was an answer. 

Clarke nodded slightly, confirming what Lexa already knew. Her face held a question, one that was not quite ready to leave her lips. 

"That's me. Have we met? I'm sorry, I don't usually forget a face." Lexa knew that what Clarke meant was that Clarke knew that they hadn't met. Not yet in this life, anyways. 

"I'm Lexa. I think I heard someone call to you? I didn't meant to frighten you." Lexa was lying, and both girls knew it. But the moment of suspense passed, and the rushing beat of Clarke's heart encouraged her to forget it entirely. 

"I..." The light had shifted against the lighthouse, framing it in a crimson halo. Clarke caught the change out of her periphery, and it left her without words for a moment. "Sorry, I really have to get this today..do you mind?" She was speaking to Lexa, but her body was faced to the sea, her hand dancing on the page. Lexa wondered for a moment if Clarke wanted her to leave, if Clarke needed solitude. Lexa wasn't sure if she could force herself to leave now. There was nothing to leave to and everything to stay for. She walked closer to Clarke, and sat slowly next to her, giving Clarke plenty of time to call it off. Clarke shifted her weight slightly to grant permission. Lexa wasn't sure if it was her imagination, but she thought she saw the play of a smile on Clarke's lips as Lexa rested beside her. 

As they had been in their first life, Clarke and Lexa were comfortable in silence. Lexa had sat in such a way that she wouldn't be able to see the sketchbook. She knew it was some kind of violation of privacy. Instead, she alternated between pretending to look at the lighthouse and looking at Clarke. She had never dreamed that she would see Clarke again. Lexa had, over time, accepted that for some reason she had been able to remember her other life, that for some reason she had been given a second chance. She hadn't dared to hope that she was being given a second chance with Clarke. Though given their first encounter, Lexa knew that Clarke didn't remember her back. Lexa had already racked up a sizable number of creepy points, and didn't want to push Clarke too far. But by being scared last time, she died before ever getting a chance to know Clarke, and she wasn't the kind of person to make the same mistake twice. 

When the sky faded to a deep purple and the lighthouse was lit only by the stars, Clarke stood up, gracefully so considering how long she had been seated. She reached a hand out to Lexa, who took it without considering how ripples of electricity would travel between them. Clarke pulled Lexa to her feet, and they were both standing in the dark, sharing warmth and considering the weight between them. 

"Where do you live, Lexa? I haven't seen you around before." Clarke was reiterating what she had told with tone earlier - Clarke and Lexa had never met. And Lexa was being backed into a corner to confirm it.

"I live on the far side of the city. The outer burgs." Lexa knew it was not a thing to be proud of, living in a place well known for death and starvation. But it was the truth. Clarke's eyes widened slightly, and she furrowed her brow for a moment. Clarke was smart enough to know that the burgs were a half day walk away, and that being from the burgs, Lexa did not have the money for the horse that would be needed to get her home quickly. Clarke seemed to debate herself for a moment, before extending an incredible kindness.

"Do you need a place to stay tonight?" 

"Only if it wouldn't bother you." Lexa said, when all she wanted to say was a 'Yes, please!'.

"It wouldn't. It's getting rather lonely in there" she said, tilting her head towards the lighthouse. 

"You're staying in the lighthouse?" Lexa had never heard of such a thing - she figured that someone lit it and left the ships to do as they may.

"Only for the next week. I'll tell you about it inside." Clarke was eager to escape the cold air and to light the tower to guide home the sailors and traders. Too much longer and the darkness would be lethal. She started the walk to the tower. Lexa followed her, but her mind was still stuck on the idea that Clarke would be in Alexandria for only the next week. 

When they arrived at the lighthouse, Clarke procured a small key from within her belt. The lock gave in quickly, and they were inside. The staircase was a tight coil of wooden steps, and in the darkness Lexa was unsure. She had only ever known steps that came in two or three - never hundreds. Clarke saw the trepidation of the dark haired girl, even in the dying light. 

"Have you never climbed a staircase?" Lexa had expected a tone of mockery, but Clarke held one of intrigue and concern. Lexa couldn't bring herself to admit her ineptitude to Clarke, so she settled with a barely noticeable shake of her head. 

Clarke reached out in the darkness to breach the space between them and took Lexa's hand in her own. She pointedly looked at the handle stapled to the wall, and together they ascended the wiry tower. By the time they reached the top, both of their hearts were racing and the culprit was not the stairs. 

"Thank you." Lexa said, accompanied with a half-smile and moment of eye contact. Clarke returned the smile, the both of them trapped in time and attraction and hope. The moment broke, and Clarke spun to the fire-keeper behind her, and with a few scufflings of her hands, the room filled with firelight. The lighthouse served its purpose, and the ships would not hit the shore tonight. 

Clarke set a pot of food to boil, and when she had killed all the time she could without it extending into awkward territory, she sat on the pillow and indicated for Lexa to do the same. 

"I get to be the fire-keeper for this week, because the city counsel decided it was time to document what they had built." She looked to the closed sketchbook for a moment. "I am an artist from Constantinople, one of the favorites of the Emperor. And he agreed with the counsel that this lighthouse should be considered as a 'Wonder of the World'. You can't very well have a Wonder without a picture of it, so here I am." 

For the first time, Lexa noticed the canvases stretched across the room and the pots of paint that adorned it. Somehow, she had expected Clarke to be the same between lives. Despite the notebook, she had thought that no matter which life it was, Clarke would be a healer and she would be someone subjected to a life of toil. Instead, Clarke was still Clarke, but it manifested itself differently under different circumstances. 

After they had eaten, Clarke started to bring out previously hidden pillows and quits. 

"You can take the bed, Lexa. I think you've had a harder day than I have." Clarke was probably going on the blisters adorning Lexa's feet, or perhaps the look of utter devastation left by the hole Aden had once occupied. Despite the fact that Clarke looked as though she had never gone a night without a bed, Lexa didn't want to be the reason for that particular first. 

"No" Her tone was curt, more so than she had meant. "I mean, it's fine. I've slept on the floor more often than I've slept on a bed."

Clarke raised an eyebrow, not brave enough to ask that question. She wasn't going to insist, not when the floor was cold and the girl was a stranger - even if Lexa felt like anything but. She held eye contact for a moment more, giving Lexa a chance to change her mind. Lexa didn't. 

Both girls assumed their sleeping positions, and within moments Clarke was out cold. Sleep did not come so easily for Lexa. At first she was amazed that Clarke could sleep so easily, with a new person in the room and with the room being bathed in the bright light of the fire. Lexa had never slept easily in this life, whether it was because of the occasional nightmare (incidentally, most of these were related to sword-play) or because of the ache in her belly. Either way, she took a long time to succumb to unconsciousness. Lexa didn't mean to, but she found herself staring at Clarke's sleeping form, and only shook herself out of it when she felt like she was crossing some sort of boundary. This time of night, after the emotional tax of the day, Lexa couldn't quite control her thoughts. She wondered if Clarke's lips would feel the same as they had before. She had noticed that her body - while very similar - was not quite what it was before. The horrible thought that this Clarke might not even be attracted to girls was one that took up quite a bit of time. Lexa couldn't help but think that perhaps Clarke was just kind, that she had some sort of husband and swarm of children. Lexa was trying to rationalize the attraction when sleep claimed her unbidden. 

Lexa often had nightmares. However, they were usually just unpleasant or at the very least short lived. The most common character was of Kane, being stabbed to his death. Tonight, however, was Desdemona. The image of the grey mare turned crimson was one that Lexa would never forget, no matter how many lives she lived. 

With a jolt, she woke. A warm hand was on her shoulder and a taut stomach was pressed to her back. The scent of evergreens washed over her, and her mind was coming back. Clarke. 

"Hey, hey." Clarke was using a tone reserved for a wild dog, or perhaps a wailing child. "You're okay, you're okay."

Suddenly Lexa wanted nothing more than to be alone. "Don't treat me like a kid, Clarke. It was a nightmare. They aren't real - of course I'm okay." Lexa tightened all of her muscles, feeling like a trapped wolf. Anger coiled within her. 

Clarke didn't move away from Lexa, but she was quiet for a moment. 

"Desdemona." Her voice had changed tones, almost apologetic, and Lexa was started to wish she had never yelled at Clarke. "The wife of Othello? Who died for her loyalty?"

"Yes." Lexa didn't offer more. She could practically hear Clarke thinking, and she wanted to apologize but wasn't sure how. Clearly Lexa had been yelling in her nightmare, which was either not something that she had ever done before or perhaps her family had been too kind to tell her. She considered that this could have been worse - occasionally she dreamt about Clarke. 

Clarke stood, still resting her hand on Lexa's shoulder. She tapped slightly, which Lexa correctly interpreted as a request for her hand. Clarke gently lifted Lexa to her feet, and scooted the step back to sit on her bed. Clarke laid down, releasing Lexa's hand and pressing herself against the curved wall of the lighthouse. Lexa hesitated - she wanted to curl up in Clarke's arms, to accept the respite that Clarke was offering. In equal measure, however, she feared what she would do without the protection of consciousness. If today proved anything, it was that Lexa could hardly control herself when she was fully awake. 

Perhaps a Lexa without the memory of a Clarke from a life before would have sunk to the floor and held off sleep until tomorrow. More likely, Lexa without the wisdom of memory would have perhaps greeted the artist on the outcropping, and that would have been the encounter for their lifetime. There are a million ways that fate can play out, and knowing how it has played before can impact how it will play. Lexa didn't think about the philosophical impact of her choice when she placed herself on the bed exactly an inch away from Clarke, she just did. And Clarke, being Clarke, closed the inch between them and formed a loose seal of heat. 

If Lexa thought that she had trouble sleeping before, that was nothing compared to now. Her heart was racing to a speed that she knew couldn't be healthy, and her skin tingled where it was near to Clarke, where their heat met and merged like two seas. Even separated by two layers of cloth, Lexa's body was responding. She couldn't move for fear of starting something she wasn't ready for. Clarke surely could hear her galloping heart from how close she was. Lexa knew Clarke wasn't asleep, because the body pressed to hers was slightly tense. Clarke's hand had been resting on her own hip, but she moved it to lightly rest on Lexa's. Neither said anything, and Lexa tried not to let her body betray her better judgement. 

Lexa wasn't sure how long she laid there, controlling herself to an admirable degree. At some point, however, she must have fallen asleep. When the stiff light of the morning shone into the small room, Clarke was still behind her, wrapped around her body. Lexa expected to have some strange sense of awkwardness, but instead it felt like home. Or at least, what she always thought home should feel like - life safety, like warmth, like a place where you could be yourself. Neither of Lexa's homes had been that, truly - but Clarke was. 

Behind her, Clarke stirred slightly, and was making the cutest grunts as sleep slipped from her.

"Morning" Clarke yawned, stretching her body while maintaining the contact between them. Lexa half expected Clarke to jump from the bed and proclaim that some mistake had been made, leaving Lexa with only memories and regret. Clarke didn't do anything that Lexa was afraid she was going to, and instead just traced Lexa's arm with her fingertips, slow patterns that left an electric path. Finally, Clarke got up, leaving Lexa to follow suit. Clarke looked out the small window, and when she saw that the morning light was clear and bright, she practically vibrated. 

"The light! We have to go outside to get the lighthouse in this light!" Clarke was already tossing a oilskin jacket on and shoving pens into her bag, grabbing her sketchpad with one hand and the door handle with the other. She glanced back at Lexa, who was still trying to clear the sleep from her eyes and the stiffness from her joints. Clarke glanced to the window again, and looked torn.

"Go, I'll meet you there." Lexa said, surprised to need to give permission. Clarke was happy for it, though, and dashed from the room with a speed that would rival any athlete. Lexa smiled to herself, happy to have the room to herself for a moment to collect her thoughts. 

The outcropping seemed higher off the sea in morning light. Clarke was standing, apparently in too much of a rush to even sit. She was rapt in the glow of the lighthouse, which seemed to emit the light rather than simply reflect it. Lexa joined her, standing in the cool breeze of the morning. She thought of Aden, how he would have liked Clarke, how he had never seen the sea or even learned to swim. When Clarke noticed the reminiscent grief in the girl next to her, she put down the pen. 

"Lexa, are you okay?" Clarke seemed to know this was a rhetorical question, because she simply leaned slightly against Lexa, providing her with slight contact on which to steady herself. Clarke didn't pick the pen up again, but rather just watched as the morning light gave way to the harsh light of afternoon. 

"Thank you, Clarke." Lexa knew she needed to go home, to talk to her parents, to attend the funeral. Suddenly, she had an idea. 

"I hate to ask you, but I'm not asking for me." Lexa met Clarke's eyes, seeing the question there but not an unwillingness. "My...my brother died yesterday. And he was only six. And I'm sure you could tell, but my family isn't exactly rich and..." She was rambling, she knew she was rambling - she was unable to stop herself. Clarke stopped her.

"You want a drawing of him." Clarke smiled, the kind of knowing and kindness.

"Please." Lexa hadn't ever considered having Clarke help her until that moment looking out over the sea and feeling the breeze, but something about the new morning made her brave. 

Clarke nodded slightly. Lexa was unsure how to break the news to Clarke that they would need to start walking if they had any hope of making it home by night, but Clarke had already begun walking in the direction of the city. 

It turns out that twelve hour walks make fast friends. Not that they minded the silence between them - it was always a comfortable one. However, talking killed time and made for more pleasant travel. They took turns asking each other questions about their lives. Clarke was the daughter of a powerful political player, and had been afforded lessons in art by the masters of the city. She honed her skill doing charity work - much like the work they were traveling to do. There was no way to get an image of someone if it wasn't drawn, so the poor of the city had little chance to have anything to remember their loved ones by. Clarke gave them that, driven by some innate sense of duty. When she turned eighteen, she was caught by her father with a girl, and he immediately disowned her for 'unnatural behaviors.' She was still owed many favors by the grateful families of the city, and with those teeming masses on her side, she was able to retain her respected position.

Lexa was interested in the whole story - honest. She was, however, extra interested in the part that included Clarke being attracted to girls.

The pair of them had made it through half the city when Lexa's stomach growled loud enough to flush her red and for Clarke to chuckle. Lexa relished the sound of a happy Clarke, even when the happiness was based around poking a bit of fun. Lexa could definitely skip eating today, given that she had eaten only last night, and she didn't truly understand what Clarke was doing when the blonde girl took her by the hand and dragged her to the food venders that sold everything under the sun, for a price that could feed Lexa's family for a week. Looking at the price, Lexa's stomach turned. She never carried money - not that she had any to carry.

"I'm not hungry, but you go ahead." Lexa said, trying not to look at the food steaming and hot before her. Clarke looked at her scrupulously, before ordering enough food to feed a small army. Lexa couldn't say no when Clarke pointed out that it would go to waste if she didn't eat it. It was the first lamb stew of this lifetime, and it was as good as she had remembered it to be from the last time. 

Her belly filled with food and it felt good to be full, but guilt still twisted inside her thinking that a few bites of this stew might have been enough to save Aden. Suddenly she was angry, so angry, that this world was what it was. She and Clarke had walked for dozens of miles in comfortable silence, and that had been enough time for Clarke to realize that something was indeed wrong.

"I'm sorry about your brother, Lexa." Clarke hadn't spoken in nearly an hour, but when she did she said the only thing that Lexa need to hear. "Tell me about him" Clarke hesitated, "if you want."

Lexa wasn't sure if she did. Even thinking about Aden made her dig her nails into the flesh of her palms and bite the inside of her lip until she could taste blood. She was turning her anger about Aden towards herself, and Clarke was offering her a way to release it that didn't involve hurting herself. 

"Aden was born on the night of the worst storm of the year. My mom never knew much about having babies. She told me I was lucky to be alive. Because of the storm, there was no convincing any midwife to come help. My father..." Lexa was unsure how to tell the next part of the story. Clarke had been looking in rapt attention at Lexa, trying to understand the story that the words told and the story that laid underneath them.

"My father, he was starved and sick at the time, and he couldn't help." Lexa omitted that they were always sick and starved, and that her father thought that having Aden was a mistake, and so wouldn't help her mother. "I was 16 then, and had picked up basic first aid. I was able to deliver him, and my hands were the first to hold him." Lexa glanced to Clarke, seeing her melancholy smile painting her face.

"My mom loved Aden, and even my father came around on him. But it was really me all along. I taught him to speak, to haggle for the best trinkets, and showed him the hiding spots in the city for when life was too bright and loud. He was always an old soul, and even when he was but a few years old Aden taught me more about life than my life had taught me." 

They walked quietly for a while, and occasionally Lexa would remember about how Aden would chew his lip when in deep thought, or how he was the most loyal person Lexa had ever met. She would sometimes share these thoughts with Clarke, and sometimes she held them for herself. The sun was starting to set by the time that the duo arrived outside of Lexa's home. She held a stopping hand out to Clarke, to tell her to wait for a moment. 

Her parents were crying. Lexa had always admired the love between them. She had wondered whether they were each other's soul mates in this life. Seeing them holding each other, consumed by grief but steadied by love, made her sure that they were. Her presence had always held weight in a room, and her parents quickly realized that she had come home. They smiled up at her, their faces streaked with tears. Lexa realized that they were in their work clothes, and she realized that even having lost their child, her parents had gone to work. They had toiled in the fields with a hole in the chests, while Lexa had run away like a child, run away to a lighthouse and expensive food and a beautiful girl. She had always fancied herself strong, but seeing her parents like this - so beaten down and yet so reliable, made her realize that she may have to live a thousand lives to reach their strength. 

"I'm sorry." There wasn't anything more to say. She knew, somehow, that her parents did not need the apology, that they understood. "I brought an artist, she agreed to draw a picture of Aden for you." Her parents must have known that Lexa couldn't afford an artist, but they didn't say anything. Instead, they hugged Clarke when she came in, and led her to the room that held Aden's body. Clarke sat at his bedside for a moment, soaking up his face and his withered body. When she began to sketch, Lexa felt oddly driven to leave Clarke to her work. Before she slipped from the room, Clarke broke her silence.

"Stay."

And so she did, taking a seat next to Clarke and watching her imagine a full frame of muscles on the boy who never known any. A drawing after death was not meant to capture what was left behind, but rather what could have been had the Fates been kinder. Clarke reached Aden's face, and paused for a moment. After debating for a moment, she drew him with lip caught between his teeth, an impish smile beneath it. 

When Clarke was done, she presented the drawing to his parents with a sort of reverence that told Lexa that Clarke had done this before. She offered to take the painting with her tomorrow, and mount it to a frame behind a protective layer of oil, to make it last at least until his parents had joined him. After the admiration of sketch, Lexa noticed that the sun had sank fully, drenching the world outside in darkness. 

"Clarke, would you like to stay with us for tonight?" Lexa had offered, and even though it was really just returning a favor, she still felt bold in it. Clarke smiled widely, perhaps in relief that she did not have to invite herself or be lost to the outside world. 

"If it's okay with your parents, I would love to." Clarke knew that Lexa's parents, after being given something worth more than what they could earn in a month, would hardly refuse any request that Clarke made. Still, it felt right to ask. They hardly debated before agreeing that Clarke could stay as long as she liked. 

Lexa could tell that Clarke was hungry, even though they had eaten two days in a row. Lexa understood, though. Those that had never been forced to be hungry couldn't turn it off, couldn't just skip meals for another day with a choice. Still, there wasn't anything to eat at home, and there wasn't anyone selling food for miles. Lexa touched Clarke lightly on the arm, and the two of them escaped to Lexa's room. 

"I'm sorry, Clarke. I didn't think of what food would be here for you. I was just.." Lexa knew she had been being selfish, been thinking of only what she needed and not what Clarke might need. 

"I'm okay, it's only for one night." Clarke had realized her mistake as soon as she made it. "It isn't only for one night for you, is it? I'm the one that should be sorry. This is your life."

Lexa smiled, unsure what words could make things less tense between them. She walked over to her bed, and moved herself in such a way as to leave room for Clarke. And Clarke was more than happy to fill that space, and again their breathing settled as they laid close to each other. Clarke's stomach rumbled, and Lexa could tell by the increase of the heat of her skin that Clarke had flushed in embarrassment. 

"How do you do it, Lexa? Not eat for so long." Clarke had whispered, but the sound of it had filled the room.

"It's not really a choice. But it helped to make it a choice, ya know? Like even though I was hungry, I could choose to give Aden what I had. When it felt like I had option, it wasn't as bad."

Clarke's stomach rumbled again, and Lexa's hand, which had been resting on Clarke's hip moved to the soft pane of Clarke's tummy. The electric ripples from where their skin met caused Clarke to spin so she was facing Lexa, so their faces were inches from each other, their breath mixing and their eyes asking all the questions that their tongues were too afraid to. 

Lexa remembered her other kiss with other Clarke, how it was over before it had begun, how their mouths were closed and how Lexa's fear had tainted it. Lexa remembered how Clarke had to kiss her, and how she was so afraid. She wasn't afraid now, but her heart still tripped over itself as she closed the distance between them.

Lexa breathed in as she connected their mouths, and the scent of evergreens and the sea mixed to form this Clarke. Clarke was, at first, unresponsive against Lexa's mouth. Lexa had started with a light peck, pressing her lips to Clarke's. She pulled back slightly, breathing out, looking at the optimistic fear she saw in Clarke's eyes. Lexa leaned back in, pressing another light kiss to Clarke, and this time Clarke softened her jaw, accepted Lexa's weight against her. Lexa pulled back again, this time letting Clarke decide to further things. Clarke did, this time with an open mouth, capturing Lexa's lower lip between her soft lips. They did this gentle kissing, this breathing in with each other, for a long time. Their hearts raced, and Lexa couldn't help but think that this was why she was given a second chance - to hold Clarke, to taste her, to be brave and to be rewarded for it. 

They had an understanding, and nothing else happened. Their skin tingled for more, and heat pooled between Lexa's thighs. Still, this was too pure to break, too pleasant to stop. And for the first night in a lifetime, Lexa slept without nightmares. 

When the morning light woke Lexa, she was alone. At first, she feared that she had gone too far, that she had rushed things with Clarke before Clarke was really ready. Perhaps Clarke could sense her anxiety, because she shifted loudly in her seat, drawing attention to herself. Clarke had been drawing, and Lexa could only imagine that Clarke had been drawing her. 

Clarke closed the sketchbook, and strolled over to Lexa, leaning over her and pressing a gentle kiss to her lips, allowing the heat from them to fully wake Lexa up. When they were both fully conscious, Clarke extending a cloth pouch to Lexa, and Lexa could hear the coins within. 

"No, I don't want you charity. You already did so much for us, Clarke."

"It's not charity - I need some help today to move my paintings to the Library. I was given money to pay someone to help me. No one specified that it couldn't be you." Clarke was smiling impishly, still extending the coinage. Lexa didn't have to say anything, it was easier for her to take the pouch, and pull on her work boots. 

Clarke was able to organize a pair of horses to be delivered for them, and by afternoon they were back at the lighthouse. Clarke hadn't said anything about how Lexa was uniquely talented on horseback, despite having never ridden in this life. The lighthouse was as they had left it, steady in spite of the waves crashing against it. 

They retrieved the paintings, and it was nightfall by the time that they had reached the Library of Alexandria. The day had been easy between them, and the food that Clarke was able to buy helped make the day about the two of them, rather than the hunger. 

The library was sectioned off, forbidden to the common people of the city and rarely seen by anyone who wasn't incredibly rich. Clarke walked in like she owned the place. Lexa followed Clarke, and the two of them absorbed a sight that was a product of millions and was reserved for the eyes of a few hundred chosen ones. Lexa felt chosen, in the musty air of the library, chosen to be given a second chance with this girl and with this life. Clarke had carried the drawing of Aden all this way, and in the quiet air of the library she worked to preserve it. Oil was rubbed into the face of it, and with tree sap it was mounted to a oak frame. 

The library of Alexandria was huge, filled with every intellectual artifact of the last thousand years. Every book, every painting, every line of poetry was copied into the library. It was a source of power, of weight, and of science. Which was why, when he was conquering, Alexander the Great decided to sneak into the city of Alexandria, and with a single match, burn it all to the ground. Historians believed the burning set the scientific world back decades, and was one of the major tragedies of the ancient world. 

With the library as large as it was, the fire took a long time to reach the girls. Clarke furrowed her brow, breathing in deeply, when fear flickered across her face.

"Fire. In the library, I think. We need to get out of here right now, Lexa." And so they rose, running to the exits. The smoke burned white, and the crimson flames consumed in moments what had taken decades to acquire. When they were nearly at the exit, Clarke slammed to a stop. 

"Go, Lexa, i'll meet you in a second."

"We don't have a second - come on, Clarke." But Clarke was gone, disappeared behind a wall of acrid smoke and flame. Lexa stood at the threshold, aware that she was being watched by all the city who couldn't fathom why this girl wasn't running. Lexa didn't understand why Clarke had ran into a burning building, or at least she didn't until a frame was chucked full power at her. The surprise and momentum of it pushed her back, causing her to tumble down the steps. Lexa was disoriented, her vision blurred from the smoke, the drum of her heart louder than the roar of the flames. She had very little of her senses left, but it didn't require much to see the support timber crumble in the flames, and for the building to crash to the ground in a bright ball of fire. 

Nothing from within the library was recovered from the flames. Lexa had sat, watching it burn all through the night. She wondered if perhaps this was all her fault, somehow. Or if she had squandered her last chance with Clarke, and she would never see those aqua eyes looking at her again. It wasn't until the morning that she dared look at the frame that Clarke had died for. Even before turning it over, Lexa, knew what it would be. But once she saw the lip trapped between teeth, the impish smile of the boy taken too soon, Lexa couldn't help but get up. 

She had a lot of walking to do.


End file.
